Chapter Text
Bramble and bracken and red dust dyed black by the inky blue of night.
All were pushed up, rumbled from their resting places by something burrowing in the dirty, dry ground. It chittered, feeling along the ground with it’s delicate cilia, searching and sensing for its prey.
As if shrouded in golden light, five figures were moving in its direction. Four tall, walking with purpose, though one seemed weakened, and… ah.
The small beast.
It had been chasing the Little Beast for miles upon miles now. The feral little creature was a problem that had dug under its chitin for a long time, a stubborn rock that refused to crush under its immense power.
Turning to face the group head on, it churred and chuffed, all thirty eyes narrowing in despise and disgust.
“Gricko, you are giving a full explanation when this is over,” Kremy hissed, hobbling on his cane as Nathaniel lead the group deeper into the wooded area behind Artie’s fields and land. Gricko sighed heavily, rolling his eyes as he planted his hands on his hips.
“I’m not sure I can explain meself further,” he argued. “Frosty got kidnapped, I ran after to save him, lost me sending stone somewhere along the way, and found you two!”
“You ain’t accounted for the monster, Lil Green,” Gideon grunted, withdrawing his chains from the bag of holding as they walked. The links clinked musically, and he seemed to stand a little straighter with a weapon.
“So now I’m supposed to know everyfin’ about it?” Gricko asked, throwing his arms up.
“You’re the damn beast master!” Gideon cried, and Gricko blew a raspberry as Kremy sighed, looking to Frost. The tabaxi looked tired, his own magic somewhat spent from the boat already. They were going into battle with yet another giant, dubious creature, and they were not looking good.
Two spellcasters on their last ropes, a fire genasi who’d been used as a battery (oh, Kremy needed to apologise for that) and a goblin who, upon second inspection, was limping and had bandages wrapped around his forearms and tail. Kremy could guarantee that he’d also been using magic.
Only Nathaniel seemed fresh, stalking ahead. Great. After all the work he’d done, the man probably was right back to distrust – Kremy had clearly used some powerful magic, and now there was no way he was getting Nathaniel to agree to the wedding.
There was still squabbling as he came up short in front, holding up a hand as he cocked his head, hat slipping a touch. Kremy stopped, hushing the others as Nathaniel squinted, listening to the wind.
“Draw,” Nathaniel’s drawl was dry, and Kremy dropped into a ready position instinctively. Raising a gun, Nathaniel pulled back the hammer with a soft click, and the group huddled, waiting.
A monstrous creature burst from the ground ahead of them. The monster had taken the initiative, and was on the warpath. With a sound like the earth itself rupturing, something exploded from the ground in front of them; a geyser of dirt and stone flung skyward as if hurled by a god’s fury. A screech rose with it, shrill and raw, a wail of ruin that carved through bone and rattled teeth. The sound didn’t stop. It clawed its way inside their skulls and made itself a nest.
The creature rose in a blur of motion, limbs scattering shadows in every direction. Legs—too many legs—spasmed and curled through the air, barbed and clawed, like broken fingers searching for something to destroy.
Rearing back, he could just about make out the beast, and wished he couldn’t. The thing lunged, not with direction but fury, crashing down just feet in front of them. The impact knocked Kremy back a half step, breath catching in his throat.
It reared up.
And hell looked back at them.
The creature was an affront to form. A fusion of nightmare parts that never should’ve met—lobster-shell plating with the sheen of oil slicks, the glistening jointed limbs of a scorpion, and a spider’s endless hunger written into every twitching claw. Plates scraped against each other like shifting tectonics, grinding with a noise like knives dragging over stone. Beneath them, something pulsed—wet muscle, pink and red, raw like the inside of a wound.
It towered over them.
Its forelimbs were grotesquely humanoid in scale—the size of coffins, ending in claws like meat cleavers, stained with old blood and fresh dirt. Its tail, thick and segmented, whipped through the air with a crack like thunder, demolishing a nearby tree into flying splinters. The wood shrieked as it gave way.
But the eyes.
The eyes.
A thousand of them, tiny and beady, glittered from every available surface—buried in its forehead, its shoulders, even along the base of its throat. Each was a black pinprick of hate, wet and twitching like parasites. They didn’t blink. They watched, every single one of them locked on the figures before it, flickering in unreadable patterns like some kind of horrible code.
Worse, they moved. They rippled, sliding beneath semi-translucent skin like marbles under fabric, adjusting, shifting in sickening waves. A thousand pricks of pinpointed light glared from sunken hollows across it, a trypophobic’s hell scattered like sand across its fleshy, exposed muscle. Kremy fought the urge to throw up.
The beast opened its maw—a terrible vertical split in its mid-torso lined with hundreds of serrated teeth, like bone saws. The mandibles around it curled outward, thick with mucus, twitching as if tasting the air for blood. Inside the cavity, something writhed.
It shrieked again, louder this time—a sound so loud it snapped branches and curled leaves. A sound of pure, primal hate.
The black beads rolled as if on thread, it roared, spreading fat mandibles and exposing a gaping hole ringed in sharp, serrated teeth.
“Oh, fuck me,” Gideon groaned. Silent and unanimous agreement wove itself between the group.
The monster came down like a landslide of limbs and screaming steel.
Kremy dove—just barely missing the edge of a snapping claw. The dirt split beside him as the creature’s weight crashed into the earth, cracking it like dry bone. He hit the ground hard, shoulder screaming, and scrambled behind a broken tree trunk, his chest heaving. His hands shook as he pointed his pistol, but the spark was fading—his reserves frayed after draining magic to save the barn. Dirt clung to his scales, stinging his eyes. His mind rattled. He couldn’t keep this up.
Frost's psionics cracked across the field in veins of green lightning, bright and jagged. He stood too close, expression cold, hands raised. He thrust them forward and a wall of mental force shoved the beast’s front leg sideways, making it stagger for a half-second. That was all he got.
One twitch of its meaty tail and Frost was flung across the field like a thrown dagger, slamming into a splintered fence post. He hit the ground with a grunt, rolling once. Blood painted the grass where his head had cracked the wood. He didn’t rise.
“FROST!” Kremy shouted, heart skipping. No answer.
“Got it!” Gricko yelped. He scuttled left, faster than seemed fair for his size, flinging a lit firework from his belt. Where he’d got it, why he’d worn it on a burning ship, Kremy couldn’t tell. It streaked through the dark, whistling. In a burst of green flame, it made the beast flinch. He reached Frost, hands shaking and scooping berries into Frost’s slack jaw as he confirmed breath.
“You great bastard,” Gricko hissed. “Pick on someone your size!”
Gideon stepped forward, and the air warped. The iron manacles at his wrists howled—a roar like a train barrelling into hell, steam venting in furious plumes. Heat warped the grass beneath his feet. Flame licked the chains as they lengthened, snapping taut as he whipped them wide. He spun them in arcs like burning comets, and they struck hard.
CRACK! One slammed into the beast’s left shoulder, denting the armour with a reverberating clang. The second whipped around a rearing leg, yanking it sideways. Gideon planted his feet and pulled, and for a moment, the monster fell; a terrible shriek rising from its thousand mouths.
Gideon surged forward, red-hot knuckles raised and landed a blazing haymaker across the creature’s ugly, writhing jawline. Fire erupted from the impact. Bone cracked. The monster screamed, bucked and slashed.
A massive claw came up faster than it should’ve. Gideon barely twisted in time. It caught him along the ribs—tore through the skin, deep and wet. He hit the ground in a roll, smoke venting as he cursed, blood hissing where it hit his own burning skin.
Kremy aimed with a cold squint, firing an eldritch blast into the thing’s face. The bolt arced wide, brushing a few outer eyes. The beast snarled.
“Not good, not good, not good!” Kremy ducked as a chunk of bark sheared off above him from a backhanded swing.
The monster charged.
And then—gunfire.
A slow, measured rhythm, like thunder on the march.
Nathaniel.
He didn’t shout. Didn’t sprint. He walked, unhurried, eyes glowing faint orange as if backlit by burning coals. In each hand, a revolver gleamed; the steel etched and worn, smoking from fresh shots. His long coat fluttered as if caught in storm winds only he could feel.
Bang.
A shot rang out—and the bullet curved midair, pulled by unseen hands. It slammed into a knot of muscle near the beast’s foreleg, and black ichor sprayed in a gout.
Bang.
Another shot—this time right between two twitching eyes. The creature staggered, claws twitching spasmodically.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang—A splintered scream rang out.
“...He’s got magic,” Kremy muttered from behind cover, panting. “That asshole has magic.”
“Was he not meant to?” Gricko shouted back, ducking under a swinging limb.
“After all that talk of no magic at the table,” Gideon snapped, clutching his ribs as he surged to his feet, flame curling from his fists again. “We will discuss this, Pa!”
The creature tried to charge Nathaniel. Tried.
Nathaniel didn’t even stop walking. He raised one gun, eyes glowing brighter now, pupils slitted into embers. Six shots surged out like loyal wolf—each one finding a seam, an eye, a weak point. The bullets shivered with orange light, a little too perfect in their aim.
The creature screamed in agony, tripping forward. Nathaniel rolled beneath it, fired up into its belly, and slid across the grass like a dancer in a warzone. The monster staggered—but not before it swiped wildly.
Claws slammed into Frost’s limp body and sent him skidding further. Gricko cried out as a flying splinter sliced his shoulder, holding on as Frost skid to a stop, barely conscious before being knocked again. Gricko cursed, casting a weak healing spell. It seemed enough, Frost coughing as he sat up roughly.
Kremy wasn’t fast enough. A tail slammed into him mid-spell. He hit the ground hard, skidding and coughing blood.
“Kremy!”
Gideon was there in a heartbeat, shielding him from a follow-up with chains of molten steel. His links lit again, and he threw them in wide arcs, driving the creature backward. A spout of fire erupted from his throat, burning across the beast’s legs.
The thing was hurting now—its plating dented, some eyes burst, ichor staining the earth. It screamed, a horrific, flanged noise of hate and torment.
Kremy, dazed and coughing, forced himself up. His left arm was hanging weird. Broken, maybe. Didn't matter. He summoned his cane again, shadows writhing around it, and fired another blast—this time true, right into the creature’s exposed stomach. Flesh burst.
Kremy blinked sweat from his eyes, watching as the beast, panting and gurgling, still refused to fall. This thing wasn’t just dangerous. It was relentless. They were going to have to kill it hard. And fast.
The monster screamed as the battle dragged on, a sound like rusted metal bent under pressure and suffering. Its eyes, scattered like glittering disease across its face, flickered with pain and rage. Ichor dripped in greasy ropes from burned wounds. Its plating cracked, smoking, pitted with acid and seared from eldritch fire and bullets that bent through the air.
Still, it did not fall.
And Kremy was nearly done.
He dropped to one knee, coughing blood, fingers trembling too hard to hold another spell. His cane vibrated with the weight of magic it had already channelled. His vision wavered, a sea of red flickering at the edges.
“We’re not gonna win this,” he gasped.
“Correction!” came Gricko’s voice—warped and wild.
He charged forward, eyes blazing constellations. His body blurred, shimmered and broke apart into starlight. A gasp rippled through the air as his form reassembled; slinking, elegant, and twice his size.
A displacer beast of gleaming constellation strands stood in his place, two tails lashing the air behind him. Stars shimmered through his sleek, dark body, light coiling across his flanks as if galaxies had been etched into muscle.
He leapt.
The displacer form slammed into the monster’s side, claws raking down its flank. It shrieked, whipping toward the sudden, magical beast now mauling its back.
“Go!” roared Frost, dragging himself up from the dirt, blood streaking down his brow.
Gricko roared like a creature made of the night sky.
“Eat this!” the goblin’s voice echoed from within the stars.
The monster turned in confusion—just in time for Frost to dash forward, shoving berries into his mouth with shaking fingers. He coughed—and stood fully upright. Green psychic fire flared around his eyes, his hands lifting again. One sweeping gesture sang with psionic humming, the spell raking the creature’s face, slicing through three eyes in a line of bubbling gore.
The creature wailed, flailing in fury.
Then, Nathaniel moved. He surged forward through smoke and wreckage, spinning a length of rope in his hand like it was a lasso of divine judgment. Or perhaps an unruly bull at the town fair.
“I got it!” he barked. “Get it to rear up!”
The ground trembled beneath their boots as the monster howled—a sound like steel screaming against steel, echoing off the hills. Smoke rolled over the battlefield, lit by the glow of the burning chains and Gricko’s form, flickering firelight dancing over broken bodies and shattered earth.
They were all exhausted.
Frost’s wit was chipped and scorched, his green psionics dulling, the light in his eyes faltering.
Gricko’s displacer-beast form shimmered unsteadily, stars flickering like dying embers in his fur, tails twitching with jerks rather than grace.
Kremy’s knees buckled as he stumbled behind a toppled tree, fingers numb, staff dragging beside him through the mud like an anchor. His throat was raw, lungs burning, and every blink was slow, heavy.
Even Gideon, firebrand Gideon, was starting to slouch, panting through grit teeth, manacles glowing red-hot and hissing with heat, shoulders visibly trembling.
And Nathaniel...
Nathaniel stood firm, feet planted wide, face unreadable behind soot and sweat. His revolver had long since been holstered, traded for a coil of thick rope pulled from gods knew where. He twirled it once in a lazy loop, calm like a storm on the verge of breaking.
The beast circled them now, hunting, as if it knew how tired they were. Its claws gouged trenches in the earth. Its plating was cracked, leaking ichor from old wounds and bullet holes, but it moved like a living apocalypse. One eye socket was empty—Nathaniel’s shot—and from the ruined mess beneath its belly, black ooze leaked steadily.
But it wasn’t enough.
“We’re not gonna take it down like this,” Nathaniel growled, snapping the rope taut in his hands. “I got close earlier. Slid underneath and shot upward, low—real low. Felt it sink in. That’s its weak point.”
“Under it?” Gideon barked, flicking sweat from his eyes. “You want us to just walk under it while it’s throwing trees?”
“We get it to rear,” Nathaniel said simply, eyes locked on the monster. “Expose the gut. One clean shot—or stab—straight in that soft patch, and it dies. Easy.”
“Easy, he says,” Kremy muttered, voice hoarse. “Sure. Let’s politely ask it to pose for the killing blow.”
“Not asking,” Nathaniel said. “We’re pissing it off.”
He cracked the rope in a fluid motion and lunged sideways, a blur of movement that had no business coming from a man his age. The rope lashed out, snapping across the creature’s lower limb like a whip. The beast shrieked, wheeled around—and charged.
Everyone scattered.
It burst through a cluster of rocks, crushing stone like eggshells, mandibles clacking in fury. Frost dove out of the way, barely missing a clawed swipe that sliced through a tree behind him. Gricko—still a constellation-woven beast—leapt across its back, digging in with gleaming claws.
“Gid—LEFT!” Kremy shouted.
Gideon spun as the beast turned to him, and hurled a length of gleaming chain straight into its eye cluster. It roared, blinded and enraged, staggering sideways.
“NOW, pull it!” Nathaniel yelled, breath hitching, spinning the rope again.
“Trying!” Gideon shouted.
The first time, the monster resisted. Gideon’s chains wrapped one forelimb, but the beast yanked, sending him skidding through dirt. Nathaniel’s lasso missed entirely, snapping off a spine but doing little else. Gricko roared and bit into the beast’s back leg, dragging it down slightly—but it just shook him off, flinging starlight and blood through the night.
“Again!” Nathaniel barked.
The second try was better.
Gricko struck hard, a blur of fangs and shimmer, driving the beast’s weight sideways. Kremy, from his half-covered position, sent a crackling bolt of raw magic into one leg joint—just enough to make it stagger.
“NOW, DAMN YOU!” Nathaniel roared.
Gideon wrapped the chain tight—yanking himself in with reckless force. His boots tore furrows through the dirt, steam blasting from the seals on his calves, his muscles screaming under the strain. He grunted, voice breaking, and hauled with all his might.
Nathaniel’s rope snapped out again, this time perfect, and coiled around the creature’s other arm, the loop cinching tight. He planted both feet, arms straining.
The beast reared, shrieked, its plated body arcing up toward the night sky.
“Hold it!” Kremy cried. “Hold it still!”
“We’re trying!” Gideon hissed, shoulders shaking.
Nathaniel let out a barked growl—then winced, his side suddenly blooming red. A clawed swipe had caught him earlier, and now the wound tore open, blood gushing. He stumbled—but gritted his teeth, wrapping the rope around his wrist and elbow, binding himself to it.
“I’m fine!” he lied. “Finish it!”
And there it was—the gap beneath the belly, slick and pulsing. The hole he’d made earlier had torn wider in the strain.
Kremy saw it. He pushed off the ground, staff dragging behind him like a weary knight’s lance. Every nerve screamed, every step was agony.
“Hold it—don’t let it go!” he yelled, staggering toward the beast.
“I am holding it, you bastard!” Gideon snarled.
Nathaniel bared his teeth, blood dripping from his side where a splintered claw had sliced him earlier. His knuckles were white on the rope, his lips drawn into a snarl. The orange glow in his eyes flared—but he was fading. Fast.
Kremy moved like a man possessed.
He sprinted toward the beast, teeth bared, guts clenched. He leapt over debris, ducked past a twitching leg, and plunged the silver tip of his cane straight into the beast’s belly.
The sound it made was unholy—a scream layered over a death rattle, over gurgling meat. It didn’t die quickly.
It screamed, a horrible, echoing bellow of ancient pain and animal fury. Its claws scrabbled at the air. The rope snapped from Nathaniel’s hand—he stumbled back, clutching his bleeding side. Gideon’s chains bucked as the monster tried to drag itself free, but he held fast, steam roaring from his boots as he dug deeper.
The staff twisted inside it.
Kremy shoved upward with a sob of fury and effort, ichor flooding down his arms in thick black ropes, burning like acid where it touched skin. Bug guts sprayed him from scalp to chest. His jacket stained black and green, slick and stinking.
The creature began to collapse.
Its legs folded. Its clawed arms slammed down. Its body thrashed, twitching wildly—and then slowed.
The beast reared higher—then dropped.
Dead.
The ground quaked as the monster crashed into the earth like a collapsing mountain. Silence fell. A long, terrible silence broken only by laboured breaths and the hiss of the dying fire.
Kremy slumped beside the corpse, ichor dripping off him in thick ropes, silver staff buried to the hilt in the monster’s gut. Nathaniel stood—barely—his shirt torn open, blood soaking one side, but still holding the end of the rope. Frost sat down heavily, sweat falling from his fur, face upturned to the stars. Gricko panted in his goblin form, collapsed on top of the beast’s back like he was sunbathing on a particularly grotesque beach.
Gideon let go of the chains and stumbled, caught only when Kremy fell into him, heaving breaths, hands still dripping with gore. Kremy sagged against Gideon’s chest.
“Tell me that’s it,” he whispered hoarsely.
Gideon caught him, held him tight. Nathaniel, standing with bloody hands and a revolver at his side, finally exhaled.
“That’ll do,” he said, voice like gravel and gunpowder. “That’ll do just fine.”
Behind them, the others limped forward. Frost gave a soft whistle.
“Guess we’re still alive,” he murmured, flicking ichor off his robes. Gricko, covered in star-speckled remnants and bug guts, slid down with a hiccup and collapsed flat on his back in the grass.
“...That was awful,” he said with a grin. Kremy chuckled weakly and wiped goo from his face.
“Next time,” he gasped, “Don’t go chasing fucking pirates.”
Smoke still coiled over the field in lazy spirals, the scent of scorched grass and monster blood thick in every breath. The battlefield was quiet now—eerily so. Only the occasional clink of Gideon’s manacles cooling or a low groan from someone injured cut through the stillness.
Kremy leaned against the carcass, too exhausted to speak, trying not to gag at the thick, viscous bug blood still drying on his face.
And then—
“Berries? Or, Bananyas?”
Gricko’s voice piped up cheerily from behind him. Kremy turned, sluggishly, to see the goblin practically bouncing on his feet—mud-splattered, streaked with blood, and beaming. In his little green hands, he held a crumpled pouch bursting with small glistening berries and a few very overripe bananas.
“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Kremy muttered.
“I am not!” Gricko announced brightly. “Healing! Come on, Krem, eat up.”
He handed a banana to Frost, who took it silently and, after a beat, bit in with a grimace and a nod. Kremy took a handful of berries, chewing with grim determination. His skin tingled as the magic worked—a gentle warmth in his chest, bones knitting back together. He hated how well they worked.
“Yoo-hoo!” Gricko trotted toward Nathaniel, holding out a berry-stuffed hand like a woodland salesman. “You look like roadkill. Want some?”
“No, thank you,” Nathaniel squinted at him, face furrowed, still grimacing through the blood soaking his ribs. “I’m not eating anything a goblin hands me from a pouch with lint in it.”
“They help,” Gricko said innocently, offering him a banana this time. Nathaniel looked down at it with undisguised scepticism.
“Pa,” Gideon, limping past, gave a tired chuckle. “Just eat the damned fruit, old man. They patch you up. I don’t know how. I stopped asking questions six years ago.”
Nathaniel looked between Gideon and the banana for a moment. Then, with a heavy sigh, he accepted the offering like it was a peace treaty from an alien planet.
“Not a word,” he muttered, taking a bite. Gricko grinned, satisfied. Gideon nudged Kremy with an elbow as they watched Nathaniel inspect his pistol, the barrel still faintly smoking.
“You saw that too, right?” Gideon said, voice low, a crooked grin spreading. “Bullets don’t usually curve like that.”
“No, they don’t,” Kremy snorted, still wiping bug ichor from his coat. “Bullets don’t glow orange either, last I checked. Unless he’s loading them with sunshine and lies.”
Nathaniel glanced over. “I heard that.”
“Look, I’m just sayin’—those shots? That wasn’t just good aim. There was something weird goin’ on. Eyes flaring. Bullets bending midair. Magic, old man.” Gideon stepped closer, gesturing with both hands. Nathaniel frowned, squinting.
“Magic? I don’t have any damn magic. I’ve just been shootin’ longer than you’ve been breathin’,” he insisted, flicking the barrel closed and holstering the gun once more.
“Oh please. I’ve seen fireworks with less sparkle than your eyes back there,” Kremy raised a brow. “You sure you haven’t got some buried inheritance from a fey or two? Maybe some sorcery?”
“I’m a Cowle, not a damn wizard.” Nathaniel scoffed.
“Sure,” Kremy muttered as he turned away, “Cowle men and their stubborn skulls…”
“I don’t have magic,” Nathaniel said, louder this time, pointing a very much magical banana at them in protest. “I’ve got skill. There’s a difference.”
“Sure,” Gideon said, still grinning. “Skill that shines and glows and defies the laws of physics. We’ll pull you ‘round sometime, don’t worry.”
Nathaniel huffed and bit into the banana like it had personally offended him.
The group stood there for a moment, not quite ready to move on, surrounded by monster remains and slowly sinking adrenaline. They were breathing. Bloodied, bruised—but breathing. Gideon lazily flicked a chain out, and scrunching his face, set it alight. The guts seemed to be flame conducive, at least.
Gideon stood over the massive corpse, flames curling along the beast’s ruined body. Chitin cracked like firewood, oily smoke curling up into the early dawn air. Sparks drifted past him, briefly illuminating his face—ashen, bruised, but proud.
Behind him, Kremy groaned. The smell of burning monster was, unfortunately, lobster-adjacent.
“I’m not saying I want to eat it,” he muttered, watching the smoke curl upward. “I’m just saying… if I were to cook lobster, I’d probably steam it first. Maybe sear the meat in browned butter after. Fresh herbs. Lemon zest. Garlic.”
“Kremy?” Gideon glanced back, one brow raised. “You alright?”
“No,” Kremy replied dryly, brushing black ichor from his sleeve with two fingers. “My body thinks it’s time for breakfast, and my mind’s just looping seafood recipes to cope.”
“I can’t tell if that’s horrifying or comforting,” Frost murmured, dusting soot from his shoulder as he limped past.
By the time they reached the barn again, the world had softened. The fire had burned low. Ash drifted lazily behind them. A few partygoers had poked their heads from the open loft window, peering anxiously at the smoldering hill.
Nathaniel strode forward, calm and straight-backed despite the red soaking into his shirt. He rapped on the heavy doors and shouted, “It’s safe! Beast’s dead. You can come out now.”
The doors opened with a creak. There was a beat of silence—then a cautious trickle of people. Eyes wide. Children clutching parents. Drunken dancers now sober with fear.
“It’s all good!” Gricko called out soothingly, though Frost rolled his eyes. “I am a- well, I’m a druid, and in me expert opinion, it’s definitely dead!”
“Oh my gods,” a voice squeaked from the throng. People started to be pushed and elbowed aside, until Jeanette was stood at the front. Her wings puffed wildly, her curls loose now, and her eyes trained on Gricko’s face. “You’re the guy from the sending stone.”
Gricko blinked. “Uh. Yes?”
“I’ve heard your voice like five times on the sending stone—you’re the one who called Kremy, right?” She wasn’t accusatory, instead running over with interest. She circled around him, taller, and then hopped to lean back on her heels and stare again. She looked like a little owl, lightening sky matching her dress.
“Gricko Grimgrin, at y’ service!” Gricko said proudly. “And you must be Jeanette Coal!”
“Hi!” Jeanette beamed, stepping forward to shake his hand, peering at him like he was some rare creature. “It’s amazing to finally meet you.”
“Much the same, love,” Gricko wiggled his eyebrows. “You’re much taller than I imagined. Good wing structure. Want some bad advice?”
Jeanette laughed.
There were more introductions, more reassurances—Gideon giving gruff nods, Kremy checking on those who were still shaken. Artie, deeply drunk and wrapped in three scarves, raised a glass and declared, “Party’s officially suspended by order of me and my knees,” before collapsing gently into a haystack with a satisfied sigh.
Nathaniel scooped him up as guests left slowly, pressing a kiss into his wife’s forehead as she checked over his bloody shirt. John stared at Kremy and Gideon, and nodded curtly. Evidently, they’d kept him safe enough.
Rod and Dom were the last to emerge, Marigold, Daisy and Rosetta having left with Marigold’s family. The twins looked between the goblin and tabaxi, and gave identical tired grins.
The house felt like a sanctuary.
They filtered in slowly, drawn to the warmth and the light and the familiar smell of Artie’s worn old rugs. Shoes were kicked off. Clothing was shed. Blankets appeared, draped over shoulders or tugged off the backs of couches.
Someone put on water for tea.
Someone else found the emergency stash of cocoa powder.
Kremy helped set out mismatched mugs. His hands trembled a little as he did, the adrenaline wearing off like a tide receding, until he curled into the corner of a well-loved loveseat, cradling a hot drink like it held the universe together.
Frost was perched on a windowsill, sleeves rolled to his elbows, sipping from a dainty teacup like he belonged in a gallery. Gricko lounged across the carpet with a plate of pie and cream, absently feeding pieces to a confused Jeanette. She took them anyway. Gideon and Nathaniel sat side by side, arms touching as they shared a blanket. Nathaniel looked more relaxed than anyone had seen him all day; eyes closed, mug resting on his knee, pistol finally set aside. Juliette curled up beside him, Artie half asleep on the floor by his legs, head tilted back as a hand lethargically scratched at the base of his horns.
Every seat was taken, every hand was full, and even the pain and aches felt more like a log day’s work than a battle now. Kremy looked around at the people—his people—and felt something ancient and warm unspool in his chest.
The fire crackled.
Then Gricko cleared his throat, pushed his plate aside, and grabbed a stool.
“Alright. Story time.” Every head turned. Kremy raised an eyebrow, but settled in further to his seat, glancing at Gideon from across the room. Nathaniel snorted softly.
Gricko took a breath, and launched in. The room was rapt.
Even the fire seemed to pause.
Kremy leaned back against the arm of the couch, exhaling. His bones ached. His clothes were stiff with dried gore and smoke. But the drink in his hand was warm. The people here were safe. Gideon had finally invited his father to the wedding.
And as Gricko talked, voices low, a soft buzz of comfort filled the edges of the room. Dom nodded off. John, eyes half-lidded, let his head rest gently against Juliette’s shoulder. Frost stirred the last of his tea, slitted eyes catching the firelight. Someone yawned. Someone giggled softly. Someone passed a blanket from the couch to the floor.
Kremy listened, and wondered what exactly had been happening in the past week to his mother and Torbek.